


To Sleep Perchance to Dream

by VigilantShadow



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: A scruffy kitten, Gen, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 17:58:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14920179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VigilantShadow/pseuds/VigilantShadow
Summary: Harper visits her doctor friend for an answer to her nightmares; Or Doctor Parley Thistledown Gives Bad Advice.Written for the Apiary.





	To Sleep Perchance to Dream

Harper swept down the street, making certain her cape looked suitably dramatic as she passed a few urchins huddled in Spite’s alleyways. They tittered with awe, so she twitched her arm to make the fabric billow more impressively as she turned the corner. As soon as she was out of sight she sagged a bit. Maintaining her aura of mystery was very important, but it was also no easy feat to do so when she hadn’t slept more than an hour in twenty-four for the past month.

One breath was all the break she would allow herself. She had places to be, and there were eyes everywhere.  So she gritted her teeth and continued on, ignoring the way her head swam with each click of her shoes on the cobblestone. Eventually, blessedly, she reached her destination. It was an unremarkable flat, just as shabby as the rest but with a bit of ominous aura drifting about it. The metal plaque hanging to the side of the door read _Ms. Pennywhistle._ A smaller sign below it, carved in looping letters on a waterlogged piece of wood, read _Dr. Parley Thistledown, M.D._ Harper reached for the brass knocker.

Before she could touch it, however, the door swung open to reveal Ms. Pennywhistle. The stern older woman glared down at Harper from behind her reading glasses, clad only in a light dressing gown and a smoking jacket. After a moment of tutting, Ms. Pennywhistle leaned back.

“Doctor? One of your friends is here. The…” She glared even harder, her mouth pursing as if around a lemon candy, “psychic one.”

There was no noise for a moment, then a crash, and then Parley’s voice drifted down. Harper couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but it sounded vaguely affirmative and so she pushed past Ms. Pennywhistle and moved toward the stairs. She could practically feel the landlady’s disdain. She ignored it. Whatever Ms. Pennywhistle’s issue was, Harper wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of cracking first.

At the top of the steps Harper turned right, pushing open the half open door which led to Parley’s room. A crooked sign paper sign was tacked to the wood, reading _The Doctor is in_ in a shakier version of the same hand from downstairs. It was a new sign, and one that didn’t speak well of Parley’s current mental state.

Behind the door, Parley was perched on their desk. They grinned their crooked grin and hopped down, muttering something about making tea before they darted into the kitchenette. Harper didn’t bother mentioning she wasn’t thirsty; Parley was nothing if not hospitable. Instead, she sat on one of the two chairs that made up Parley’s “waiting room”, a stiff wooden one which Harper had discovered one evening was engraved with PROPERTY OF LONDON HOSPITAL in even letters.

The cramped little one and a half room apartment was clearly not meant to contain an entire medical practice, but Parley had made do as best as possible. Harper was fairly sure half of the furniture was just as stolen as her chair, and all of the medical equipment probably was, but nonetheless it evened out to about the minimum one might expect from a doctor. Even if most doctors didn’t have foldaway cots shoved into the corner of their offices.

Harper heard a purring at her feet. For a moment she thought it was another of her daytime hallucinations, but was soon proved wrong. It was only Muffin, the scrawny little cat which lurked in Parley’s office and created that air of utter desolation which surrounded the whole building. Harper had asked how Muffin did it, once. Parley had simply tilted their head confusedly and claimed not to have noticed. Harper reached down and scratched Muffin’s ears, contemplating stealing the kitten for her business for the fortieth time since meeting her. Muffin mewled fondly, then scampered off just as Parley stumbled back in, a cup of tea in each hand. They carefully handed Harper one, returning to their seat atop their desk. Harper wondered if Parley ever actually sat in the _chair_ of their desk.

“So, what brings you here tonight? Not that I don’t always enjoy having a nice cup of tea with friends, but you seem like something is on your mind,” Parley said after taking a long sip of their drink. Harper’s grip around the handle of her cup tightened.

“I’ve been having some issues, health issues I mean, and you’re the only doctor I trust.”

Parley clapped a hand to their chest.

“Really? Oh, Harper, that is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me! No one’s ever implied anything like that before!”

Harper used all of her skills as a fake fortune teller to hide her wince at that.

“Yeah, well. You know,” she said. Parley nodded.

“Anyway, I got distracted! What was your issue?”

“You see-“

Harper swallowed around the dryness of her throat and began to talk, trying to pin down every detail of her dreams. The storm, the waves frothing about her, the way her reflection in every window she glanced at even in the waking world seemed to judge her. By the end of it, her hand was shaking around her teacup. She took a drink to cover the movement and, when she set it back down, noticed Parley’s expression was not as worried as she would have expected. Rather, her erstwhile companion looked delighted.

“What would you suggest I do about these dreams?” Harper prompted, when it became clear Parley had nothing to say.

“Do?” Parley asked, blinking confusedly. “Oh. I understand. The dreams were the health issues. Yes, yes, I can understand that they can be quite terrifying at first.”

“At first?”

“Oh, I have those sorts of dreams all the time. But the reflection. The reflection! That is a new one, and a very good one. You should document these.”

“But how do I _fix them_?” Harper interrupted. Parley raised an eyebrow.

“Fix? Why, I suppose I could help you get rid of them if you really wanted. But why?”

Harper groaned.

“I haven’t slept in days! The dreams are following me into my waking hours! My reflection is _looking at me._ ”

Parley nodded, but clearly did not understand.

“Yes, that is the general stance on nightmares. And I can prescribe something for that. But I find I much prefer an alternate treatment.”

“Yes?”

“Well, you see. Your daytime hallucinations, the reflection perhaps being an exception, are all caused by your lack of sleep. You _could_ rectify your situation by simply letting the nightmares happen. Dreams tend to stay in dreams if you let yourself have them.”

Harper squinted at Parley, waiting for them to declare this a joke.

“You and I both know what happens to people that do that sort of thing,” Harper said quietly. Parley sighed.

“Yes, I know what people say about it. I find that it’s all a bit of bad press, though. You know, The Marches look _stunning_ this time of year.” Parley had developed a faraway look in their eye that, somehow, made them look more alive than Harper had ever seen them. “So long as you make sure to remember your name, you’ll find your way out eventually. And when you do, all your nightmares go away. Really, the only disadvantage is that the manager at the hotel is a bit of a wanker.”

Harper nodded, as if that last sentence made any sense. She looked down into her teacup. Her reflection on the surface of the liquid narrowed its eyes back at her.

“Well I suppose it would be good for business,” she said.

“Yes, quite,” Parley replied. Muffin jumped up onto the desk and settled in Parley’s lap. “If it would help, you can sleep here. I’ve developed a spot of nocturnal behavior since my last trip to The Marches, so it wouldn’t be any trouble. This was actually my morning tea.”

Harper looked out the window and down at the darkened London streets. She could definitely make the journey home, but it would mean shoring up her defenses enough to appear strong until then.

“Alright,” Harper conceded. Parley’s expression didn’t change, but their eyes sparkled.

Later that evening, as Harper stared at Parley’s water-stained ceiling and forced herself to give in to sleep, she thought that her reflection in the window next to her seemed a bit less disapproving.


End file.
